Aftermath
by fadedelegance
Summary: Post-"Tango". T for language. Mike must deal with the consequences of his actions after hurting Connie...
1. Part 1: I Think I'll Sit This One Out

**Disclaimer:**** Dick Wolf and NBC own "Law and Order". I don't. (Sadly LOL)**

** All the non-canon characters are my own creations. Kitty Garber is actually based off some real people I've had the grave misfortune of working with. Basically, she's a real-life-people-I-greatly-dislike cocktail. LOL **

** A/N: When it hit me that I'd never written a post-"Tango" fic before, I knew I had to remedy that situation. LOL**

** With this story, I really wanted to explore and show Mike and Connie's feelings. I hope my depiction of their emotions is both accurate and pleasing. I really believe this was both a big obstacle and a pivotal moment in Mike and Connie's relationship. I hope I've done justice not only to the characters but also to the fighting-and-making-up concept going on. **

** There was definitely something powerful going on with Mike and Connie. I mean, Mike _did_ hurt her pretty badly—and yet she found it in her heart to forgive him. Soon, it was as though nothing had ever happened. I thought about how the two of them would move past that whole ordeal and how Mike would go about making it up to her. That was a big thought I had when I wrote this fic. I truly believe that beneath that hard-ass prosecutor exterior, Mike is a very sweet and loving man, and I definitely think we were shown that in the show. I think letting Connie see that side of him—that and their love for each other—allowed them to move past what Mike did. I think the fact that they were able to move past it is a real testament to how strong of a bond they share. **

** This fic is dedicated to: all my readers here; my best friend Justice who loves "L+O" as much as I do (and who has always supported every single one of my fic writing endeavors LOL); to everyone in the Cutter/Rubirosa fan community on LiveJournal; to everyone in the Linus Roache fan community on LiveJournal; to Dick Wolf, Sam Waterston, Linus, Alana, and M/C shippers everywhere. **

** To my sister who always wants to watch a good "L+O" rerun on TNT with me. **

** In loving memory of my grandpa, who really did used to say, "There are more horses' asses in the world than there are horses." **

** Enjoy, my lovelies! 8D ~ Abby **

**Aftermath**

_This is going to break me clean in two_

_This is going to bring me close to you_

_She is everything I need that I never knew I wanted_

_She is everything I want that I never knew I needed_

_-The Fray, "She Is" _

_And I'm lonely here inside of me_

_Deep inside of me_

_Believe in the light in me_

_And I'm lonely here inside of me_

_Deep inside of me_

_Reveal the light in me_

_Saving all my words only for you_

_Forgive me_

_-Lacuna Coil, "Cold Heritage"_

**Part One: I Think I'll Sit This One Out**

"So would you be all right with that?"

"Absolutely. I care about you, Connie. Very much. You're a very dear protégée, and taking you under my wing is one of the best things I think I've done. I'm very glad that you feel like you can come to me whenever something's wrong. Remember, you're like a second daughter to me."

"Thank you, Jack."

"Of course."

"I'm sorry…Jack, I want this to work out. I really do."

"I know you do—out of loyalty to me, and that really means a lot."

Connie gave a small, sad smile.

"Thanks," she said. "It's just that ever since Arthur left, this place has been chaos, and I've felt so bad for you. Plus, you've been the best mentor to me, and…I like Mike—really, I do, I just…can't believe he did that to me. I thought he couldn't do anything like that, as overzealous as he can get sometimes…"

"I truly am sorry, Connie," Jack said caringly. "That really was despicable thing to do."

"Yeah, it was," Connie said bitterly. "It really hurts me…"

"I know it does," said Jack.

He gave her a fatherly hug, which she returned with gratitude.

"Thank you, Jack, for being so understanding," she said.

"Of course, Connie," said Jack. "You take it easy."

Connie nodded.

"I will," she said. "But what about you, who's going to second chair cases?"

"Don't you worry about that," Jack said in a firm but kind tone. "I'll find someone. Right now, you just focus on clearing your head—focus on you."

Connie nodded again.

"You're right," she said.

"You want me to talk to Mike?"

Connie sighed.

"No, it's all right, I'll talk to him," she said flatly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"All right, then. Take care, Connie. Give yourself time and space, and relax."

"I will, thank you. See you, Jack."

"Goodbye, Connie."

With that, Connie left Jack's office.

She then entered her own office and packed up her briefcase. She grabbed her purse, flung it over her shoulder, and then reluctantly went to Mike's office.

Not wanting to just enter the room as she usually did, she rapped sharply on the door.

A moment later, Mike answered it.

He looked very surprised to see her.

"Connie…"

He spoke her name softly and then opened the door wider so she could come in.

He seemed nervous—borderline afraid—which gave Connie a sense of satisfaction in her fury at him.

She strode into the room, and he slowly closed the door behind her. He turned to face her, awkwardly placing his hands in his pockets. He didn't say a word.

When Connie spoke, she used a detached, businesslike tone.

"I just got done talking to Jack, and I've decided to take some time off. I've accumulated some vacation time, and I've decided to use it. I need some personal time—I need space," she said.

"I—I understand…" Mike said softly.

"You should," said Connie.

"When will you be back?" Mike asked, still in that quiet, subdued voice.

"Two weeks," Connie replied.

"Okay," Mike whispered, nodding.

"And Jack's going to find someone to temporarily replace me, so you'll have a second chair. In other words, you'll have someone you can manipulate and walk all over. You'll have a tool you can use to help you win—to secure a conviction. You'll still have that safety net, don't worry."

Mike could only look at her as he felt his heart shatter into a million pieces.

Seeing his expression, Connie said, "Oh why so sad, Mike? You won. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Connie—"

"I don't want to hear it, Mike. You sold me out. You sold me out, and it hurts like hell. I feel used, I feel angry, and to be quite honest, I feel betrayed. Let make one thing clear: I am your _partner_. I'm not some tool you can use whenever you feel like it. I am not a sex object. I'm a human being with an intellect and feelings, and you'd do well to remember that. That being said, I'm leaving now. I need my space."

"Are—are you sure it has to be two weeks?"

"Yes, Mike, I'm sure. But you'll deal. You've got the Barlow trial coming up. You'll probably be so preoccupied with getting a conviction that you won't even miss me."

With that, Connie turned around and left the room without a backward glance.

Mike watched her leave.

He sighed.

"That's not true," he said softly after she was gone.

Jack was sitting at his desk, trying to figure out who Connie's temporary replacement would be. He was going over files for several attorneys who worked for him.

He was deep in concentration when Mike entered his office without preamble.

"You got anything stronger than scotch in that desk?" he asked glumly.

"That's how you deal when the going gets rough, Mike? Drink?" said Jack.

"You talked to her, Jack. You saw the look on her face—you saw the look in her eyes. She was so hurt. She was so livid. And I did that—I did it. I hurt her so badly," Mike said in a subdued, ashamed tone of voice.

"Yeah, you did," said Jack. "You really did."

"She's doing this because of me…" Mike said remorsefully. "Taking time off…She can't stand to be around me right now…"

He didn't blame her for not wanting to have anything to do with him, but he couldn't help himself—all he wanted was to go back and change what he did…and hold her close and tell her how sorry he was—to feel her arms around him as she gave him her forgiveness.

He knew he would do anything to make it up to her—whatever it took.

"Can't say that I blame her—you acted like a complete prick," said Jack.

Mike sighed and put his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor for a moment.

"Yeah, I did…" he finally said softly. "I completely lost sight of what's important—our partnership…"

He wanted to say "her" instead of "our partnership", but he restrained himself.

"Yes, you did," said Jack.

Mike paused for a moment.

"What if I've permanently ruined things? What if…what if she can't forgive me?"

He paused again and then sighed.

"Well then…if—if that's the case, then…then I won't force her to be around me. If she wants to transfer, I don't blame her at all, but…but she shouldn't have to leave. I should. She's been here longer than me. Maybe…maybe that's best. I'll transfer, then. That way I won't be around to make things difficult for her…"

"Oh, Mike, come on," Jack said sternly, assuming an attitude of fatherly tough love. "Connie's not going anywhere, and neither are you…Is this really how you deal with your problems? You either drink or you turn tail and run? I would've thought you were better than that. You can go to trial and hand a murderer his balls, but when it comes to Connie, you act like a complete coward? Man up, Mike. Man up, and work it out with her."

Mike stared at him for a moment and then blinked, completely speechless as Jack's words sunk in.

"You're right…" he said softly.

When Connie got back to her apartment, she flung herself down upon her couch and set her purse down on the end table beside it.

She sighed and massaged her temples.

_God, what a day…Maybe, I can find something on TV to help take my mind off it, _she thought.

She picked the remote up off the coffee table in front of the couch and turned her TV on. She then began flipping through the channels.

"Coming up on_ Judge Judy_—"

Connie changed the channel.

"—it's all coming up on _Nancy Grace_—"

Next channel.

"—on Court TV—"

"No, thank you," Connie said flatly, changing the channel.

"Next: The _Matlock_ pursuit of justice marathon continues. Only on Hallmark Channel—"

Click.

This time, Connie had hit the 'Power' button.

"Damn court shows," she said.

She lay on her back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

She sighed heavily.

All of a sudden, her phone went off, making her flinch. She dug it out of her purse and saw that the call was from her friend Lacey Bardwell, who worked in the white collar crimes division at the D.A.'s office.

"Hi, Lacey."

"Hey, Connie. I heard what happened today."

"Who told you?"

"Jack did. We met up at the local bar for drinks. Connie, I am so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Still, that is just shitty."

"Yeah, it is," Connie said bitterly.

"Jack said you've taken time off work."

"Yeah. I just need a break. I need my space…In other words, I just need to get away from Mike for a little while. I just can't be around him right now."

"I understand. He acted like a complete jackass."

"He certainly did. To be honest, Lacey, I didn't think he was capable of something like that, but oh, did he prove me wrong…You know, I have met so many men throughout my life who have been unable to look past the surface—who have only seen me as a pretty little sex object and not as a human being. I never thought Mike would end up being one of them. I thought he was different…I mean, how dare he? I am his_ partner_, not some tool he can jerk around whenever he feels like it. I am not a means to an end—I am a human being with feelings."

"I hope you told him all that."

"Oh I made sure to."

"Good."

"You honestly think I'd just let him throw me under the bus and not say anything about it?"

"I would've been very surprised if you had."

"Lacey, I honestly thought I was untouchable so to speak. I truly believed I would never be a victim of his overzealousness. But again, I was wrong. I thought he cared about me. But it's winning he cares about…I wonder why he's so obsessed with it? Is it about making sure justice gets served, or is it about his ego? Is it about making himself look good? I can't believe I thought he was sincere—that he actually cared about me…That _prick!_"

She sighed and then fell silent.

"Did he seem ashamed and sorry at all?" Lacey asked.

"Yes, but was it an act? Or does he truly regret what he did to me?" Connie replied.

"Why would he fake it?"

"I don't know…Maybe to regain my trust so he can keep using me to influence juries and win convictions. I mean, that's what it's all about, isn't it? Victory—winning...What's your take on all this?"

Lacey hesitated and then said, "I don't think you want to know what I think."

"Lacey, don't be silly. You're one of my closest friends. Of course I want to know what you think. I always value your opinion."

"Connie, you have _every right_ to be pissed at him—_every_ right. I still stand by what I said—what he did is just shitty, and I don't blame you in the slightest for being hurt. But Mike is just like everyone else—he's human. Again, I understand where you're coming from, and I'm glad you put him in his place. He needs to learn that his actions have consequences."

"But?"

"_But_ I think you're so hurt that you're not thinking entirely clearly."

"What do you mean?"

"Has Mike ever done anything like this to you before? Is your relationship usually adversarial?"

"No, not at all. And no, he's never done anything like this to me before, that's why it hurts so much."

"See, there you are—bingo. He never treats you like crap. He never does anything shitty to you. So, instead of revealing his true colors and stabbing you in the back, could it be that this is just a moment of weakness in a man who is otherwise really good to you? Again, I'm not saying what he did is okay. He fucked up. But everybody does. Everyone hurts someone they care about at some point."

Connie sighed.

"You're right—everyone _does_ do that," she said. "You really make a lot of good points…"

"And I don't blame you for taking time off. Yeah, you should get some space. But do you plan on putting in for reassignment, or are you staying in Homicide?"

"I'm staying in Homicide."

"So I'm right in assuming you want to give yourself time to heal, not just so you can move on from this, but also so you can forgive him?"

"Yes…" Connie said. "I want to be able to forgive him. You're right."

"And Connie?"

"Yes?"

"To be brutally honest, I don't think you're this hurt because of your work relationship. I think it's because you return his feelings."

Connie was glad she and Lacey were speaking over the phone as she blushed.

"Feelings?" she asked, playing dumb.

"What?" Lacey said, surprised. "Have you _seen_ the way he looks at you?"

Connie blushed deeper, and her heart began to beat faster. She certainly _had_ seen the way Mike often looked at her. His expression was intense and yet very tender at the same time. She was well aware of his interest.

"I just wish he'd said he was sorry," she said.

"You said he looked ashamed," said Lacey.

"He did…I bet he was trying to apologize…But I cut him off because I was so angry and hurt that I didn't want to hear anything he had to say…"

"It's all right, Connie. It'll be fine. I know you two will work it out."

"I know that I'll be able to forgive him in time, but I just need my space for now. That really, _really_ hurt me."

"I know," said Lacey. "I think the two of you should just let it breathe for a while and then you can talk."

"Yeah—that's what I've been thinking. Once I've healed, I'll go back to work, and he and I will talk."

"I'm sure he's sorry, Connie. I bet he feels terrible, especially now that you've made it abundantly clear how hurt you are."

"I hope you're right, Lace."

"I bet I am. Mike's a good man. Obviously he has his moments, but I can tell that you really do mean a lot to him."

"You are making a hell of a lot of sense. Again, I hope you're right."

"I bet I am…Listen, I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Yeah, I'll be all right. Thanks so much for calling, I really appreciate it."

"Connie, we've been friends since law school—of course! So I'll see you in a bit, then. How much time are you taking off?"

"Two weeks."

"Okay. Well, I'll see you then. Feel better, Connie. And call me if you need to talk, all right?"

"All right. Thanks, Lacey."

"Sure thing! See you, Connie."

"See you."

The two of them hung up.

Connie sighed and set her phone back down on the coffee table.

Well, Lacey had certainly given her a lot to think about…

For one thing, what Lacey had said was true: Connie did return Mike's feelings—very much so. She could see the huge heart that lay beneath the hard-ass prosecutor exterior because he'd shown it to her. He had a very big heart, he valued her input on all their cases, he treated her like an equal, he was chivalrous towards her, he was very smart, they worked well together, he was normally so sweet to her…He also had the nicest blue eyes and a smile that never failed to make her melt…

Connie really did want the two of them to work through the whole issue—she really did. But it just hurt so damn much. She just had to step back and heal first.

Mike was slouching on his own sofa, only half paying attention as he idly flipped through the channels on _his_ TV. He'd tried going over files for work, which he now thought was an extremely stupid idea because it'd only made him think of Connie _more_.

He sighed heavily.

"God, Connie, I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "I'm_ so_ sorry…"

He did a bit more channel-surfing before finally giving up taking his mind off of how much he had hurt the woman he loved.

"You fucking prick," he scolded himself in an undertone.

_But Jack knows Connie very well,_ he suddenly thought. _He's known her for a few years. If he thinks it's possible for the two of you to move on from this debacle you caused—then maybe you _can. _He told you to work it out with her. Would he have said that if he didn't think it was possible?_

Jack was a man, too, though. Maybe it was easy for him to think that.

Mike decided he needed a woman's perspective on the whole ordeal.

He retrieved his Blackberry from off the coffee table and dialed the woman he trusted the most.

"Hello?" answered the voice he'd known his whole life.

"Hi, Mom…"

"Hello, Michael…You've got me on that silly gadget of yours, don't you?"

"It's not 'silly', Mom, it's convenient. I'll never understand what you have against technology."

"And I'll never understand what _you_ have against writing things down. In my day, we used planners, calendars, date books, and the like, and we stayed organized just fine."

"Well, _I_ stay organized just fine."

His mom sighed.

"One of these days, I suppose you all will be proposing marriage to each other through those damn things!"

"Did you and Jack know each other in a former life?"

"Maybe we did, love, maybe we did…Anyway, you didn't call to listen to me bitch, so moving on…what did you do?"

"How do you know it was something I've done?"

"I know you like the back of my hand, Michael."

"Mom, you're honestly the most intuitive person I know. You and—"

He broke off immediately, stopping himself from saying the one name that ran through his head more than any other.

"Me and who? Connie?" his mother asked shrewdly.

Mike hesitated.

"Yes," he finally said.

"This is about you and her, isn't it? Your tone of voice gives you away…So tell me what happened."

Mike hesitated even longer this time.

"Mom, I…I fucked up. I fucked up badly."

"Tell me what happened," his mother repeated.

Overwhelmed with guilt, shame, anger, and embarrassment, Mike told his mother every last detail about what he'd done earlier that day and how Connie had reacted. None of it was easy to talk about, of course, but the last part was the most difficult for him.

When he was finished relaying everything to his mother, he sighed heavily.

"God, I hurt her so badly…" he said softly. "I'd give anything to go back and change what happened—for what it's worth, which probably isn't much…I'd do whatever it takes to earn her forgiveness…" After a pause, he added, "You can say it if you want—I'm just like Dad…even though I always swore to myself I wouldn't be…"

"I'll be honest, Michael—I am _very_ disappointed in you for what you did. Connie has every right to be angry and hurt. But where the hell did you come up with such an asinine idea—you being just like your father?"

"Well," Mike answered wryly, "all he ever did was hurt you and let you down, and that's basically all I ever do to Connie."

"That's not true," his mother said firmly. "Michael, you are _nothing like_ that son-of-a-bitch, do you understand me? I know that for a fact because I know you better than you know yourself. You quit thinking that right now. You need to get a grip on yourself because you aren't thinking clearly. Yes, you hurt Connie very much. Yes, you made a big mistake. I'm pretty sure I taught you that that happens to us all. Nobody's perfect. Every single one of us fucks up with those we care about—every single one of us. Judging by everything you've said to me about Connie, she's an immensely loving and compassionate person."

"She is…"

"Do loving and compassionate people go around expecting others to be perfect? Does Connie expect you never to let her down or make mistakes when it comes to her? Does she expect you to be perfect?"

Mike sighed.

"No—she doesn't."

"That's what I thought. Give her some credit."

"I talked to Jack about the whole damn thing."

"What'd he have to say about it?"

Mike then told her all about his conversation with Jack.

"Well, he's right, Michael. You need to face this thing head on like the strong, assertive man that you are. I didn't raise you to run away from your problems," his mother said.

"You're right," Mike said softly. "Jack's right, Connie's right, you're all right."

"Besides, you don't want to just give up, do you, honey? Because I would _not _advise it. If you do, you _will_ regret it, you know that, right? If you love Connie, you'll work it out with her and show her how sorry you are."

"I _do_ love her," Mike said without hesitation.

"I know you do," his mother said warmly.

"I really need your perspective, Mom. Where do I go from here? How do I make it up to her?"

"Well—the first thing you need to do is give her space. Let her be for a while, all right? She needs to heal. Don't force her to talk to you, don't force your presence on her, just step back and let her be. I think that's the best thing you can do for her right now. Remember, this is about her, not you. Give her time, give her space, and let her come to you when she's ready."

"Okay."

"She'll let you know when she's ready to talk, and that's when you apologize because she'll be ready to hear it."

"All right," Mike said. "But I want to do something for her. What should I do? Buying her a drink doesn't sound like enough…I doubt buying her dinner would strike her as atonement. She might just see that as me being forward…I'd like to get her a present, but I don't want her to think I'm trying to buy her forgiveness. That has no price—it's invaluable…"

"You're right—you are absolutely right. She doesn't need any of that, Michael. All she needs from you is a heartfelt, meaningful apology—when she's ready to hear it."

"Okay," Mike said. "Thank you, Mom. Thank you so much. I—I would do anything to fix this."

"I know you would, honey. And you're very welcome. I'm always here if you need me."

"That means more than you know…Mom, do you think we'll be okay? Do you think we can move past this and go back to normal?"

"Yes, I do. But it's crucial that you follow the advice I gave you to a tee."

"I will, Mom, believe me, I will. Not losing her is the most important thing to me."

"I know it is."

"And Michael?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Let this be a lesson to you. Don't you _ever_ do something like that again."

"Oh, I won't, believe me."

"I'm proud of you, Michael, and I love you dearly. You're a good man. Yet there is something about you I will never understand."

"What's that?"

"Dear, the good Lord gave you a brilliant mind, but what baffles me to no end is that you don't always use it. This whole ordeal, of course, is an instance of that. Please use your head and think before you act. That's what this all boils down to, really."

"You're right. You're absolutely right, Mom…God, I don't know what the hell I was thinking…"

"Michael, you just plain out _weren't_ thinking."

Mike sighed heavily.

"No, I wasn't," he agreed. "Not at all…This whole disaster is by far the single most idiotic thing I've ever done."

"Yes, it _was_ pretty damn stupid, but honey, you're human. You need to forgive yourself."

"I can't do that unless Connie does."

"And she will if you follow my advice."

"I will."

Silence fell between them for a bit.

Then—

"Mom?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"Do you think Connie could ever…?"

"Love you? Yes, I do. But that doesn't just depend on _her_, it depends on _you_, as well. You have to show her the best of you, Michael. You_ have _to let her see that. Otherwise, you've really got no chance."

"Okay…" Mike said softly.

After a pause, he said, "You really think she and I could be together some day?"

"Yes, I do, Michael. You have a lot to offer a woman—and I'm not just saying that because I'm your mother."

"Mom, I…"

"It's all right, honey. You don't have to say anything."

"You've always had my back, Mom. That means more than you know."

"Well, I'm just a mother who loves her son. That's all there is to it. I'm simply doing what a parent is supposed to do…Now I expect you up here for Christmas. You need to quit isolating yourself, especially around the holidays."

Mike smiled for the very first time that day.

"All right, I'll be there," he promised.

"See that you are…Well, I'm sure you've got lots to do."

"Yeah…"

"So I'll let you get to it, then."

"All right…Hey, Mom?"

"Mmhm?"

"There's something about you that _I'll_ never understand."

"And what would that be?"

"Why the hell you gave up practicing for teaching. _Such_ a waste…"

"It gave me more time with you, Michael. _You_ are not a waste. I still got to express my passion for the law—just in a different way. Besides, the timing was perfect—I was ready for a change anyway."

"Are you sure? You were one hell of a litigator."

"I'm absolutely sure…Well, I hope this conversation was helpful to you."

"It was—very much so."

"Good. I'm very glad. Now you take care, Michael—and you call me whenever you need to, all right?"

"I will. I'll talk to you soon, Mom."

"You'd better," his mother joked warmly. "Goodbye, Michael."

"Goodbye, Mom. I love you."

"I love you, too."

He heard his mother hang up, and then he did so himself, feeling indescribably grateful to her.


	2. Part 2: I'll Lead

**Part Two: I'll Lead **

The next day, Mike entered One Hogan Place and took the elevator up to the floor where he worked, as usual. As usual, he unlocked his office, took off his coat, hung it up, and placed his briefcase down on his desk. The first thing he usually did before starting his day's work was go to the break room and get a nice, hot cup of coffee.

A pang of sadness hit him when he picked up his mug. Mike loved this mug. It was navy blue with the Yankees "NY" logo on it. Connie had given it to him shortly after they'd met, as a welcoming gift. He sighed and made his way to the break room.

Sadness jabbed him once again when he got there because that was where he would see Connie for the first time each work day. Sometimes she would be the first to say 'good morning', sometimes he would be—sometimes they'd say it at the same time. However they greeted one another, she would then smile at him—always: that beautiful smile that made his heart race and his breath catch in his throat.

Mike would then let her leave the break room first and then follow her out. They'd walk together back to their respective offices, and, along the way, would discuss which case or cases they'd be devoting the day to. They'd then gather all necessary files and either work in his office or hers—usually his.

When they worked separately, they both left their office doors wide open. There was no need to knock.

Mike knew he was being stupid, but he couldn't help but hope that, for whatever reason, Connie just might be in the break room. Of course, she wasn't. He then felt a flicker of hope that maybe, for whatever reason, she just might be in her office. But no—when he passed Connie's office, the door was shut and obviously locked.

He shook his head at himself.

_Stop it, Mike, you're being an idiot,_ he told himself. _Connie's on vacation. She'll be gone for the next two weeks because she can't stand the sight of you right now. And that's your fault, so you need to just deal with it._

He sighed again as he reached his office.

Today, he shut the door.

Mike had been working on a case involving a suspect named Enzo Peretti, who was accused of having mob connections and committing a quadruple homicide. It was ten a.m. He'd been working for two hours…alone.

He checked his watch and noticed that. He sighed, put down his pen, and rubbed at his temples.

Suddenly, there came a knock at the door.

_Stop it_, Mike scolded himself for the small flicker of hope he felt that Connie was there.

He reluctantly arose from his desk and answered the door. There stood a prim-looking, well-dressed woman with a stern countenance. Mike guessed she was in her late 50s or early 60s. She looked very no-nonsense.

"What can I do for you?" he asked her.

She held out her hand and said, "Kitty Garber. I'm currently with Special Victims, but I have plenty of experience with homicide cases—over twenty-five years, in fact, both as an ADA and as a defense attorney. Jack approached me and asked if I would fill in for Miss Rubirosa while she's away. So we'll be working together for the next two weeks."

"Oh—all right, then," Mike said, a little taken aback by the abrupt way she'd just spoken. "Michael Cutter," he added, shaking hands with her.

"I'm aware," she said briskly.

"Okay," Mike said, still a bit taken aback.

He barely had time to open the door wide enough for her to enter before she quickly strode past him into the room, carrying her briefcase.

"I expect to be brought up to date on all your current cases—obviously," she said.

"Sure, of course," said Mike. "Why don't I just explain—"

"I _can_ read, Mr. Cutter," she interrupted him flatly.

"Right—yeah," Mike stammered, "of course. Of course."

He went over to his desk, where Connie had placed all the files for their current cases, picked up the stack of manila folders in which they were placed, and handed them to Garber.

"Thank you," she said in that abrupt tone that Mike was beginning to think was typical of her. "Now, Jack gave me a copy of your schedule, and I saw that you have a motion hearing in an hour."

"Yeah—for the Moseley case."

"You should prepare for that, while I read these files and get caught up. I'll see you shortly. Then we'll work on these cases."

And with that, she placed the files in her briefcase and strode out of the room with them without another word.

Mike stood there, not feeling one bit less taken aback.

_Well—that was…interesting_, he thought.

Going to the courthouse and back without Connie felt not only weird—it was lonely, too. However, not having her by his side to back him up as he argued the state's case against the defense's motion to suppress key evidence, felt flat-out wrong. They were supposed to defend the state's position_ together_—he wasn't supposed to go it alone.

But he was—and it was all his fault.

When he got back to One Hogan Place, there was a note on his office door, written in very neat cursive: 'Am working in the conference room. Meet me there when you get back, so we can discuss our cases. –Kitty Garber'.

_Me and Connie's cases, you mean_, Mike thought with a pang of annoyance, peeling the note off his door, crumpling it up, and tossing it into a nearby wastebasket on his way to the conference room.

When he reached the conference room, Kitty Garber sat at the table, donning a pair of reading glasses as she read a file, he saw through the open blinds.

He knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Garber called briskly.

Mike entered the room.

"Mr. Cutter—good," Garber said. "I want to discuss the witness list for the Barlow trial."

"All r—"

"Why on earth are you putting the girlfriend on the stand?"

"She incriminates Barlow. He wasn't with her on the night of the murder."

"He wasn't with her on the night of the murder _after all_. She lied and then changed her testimony. She flip-flopped. You put her on the stand, and the defense will attack her credibility left, right, and center. They'll decimate her."

"Well," Mike said patiently, "that's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Well, it shouldn't be."

Mike's blue eyes widened. He stared at her for a moment, surprised by her unnecessary rudeness.

"She helps put him at the scene of the stabbing. I can spin it so that it looks like she was afraid he might retaliate if she spoke out against him. But she helps incriminate him. We have other evidence against Barlow, yes, but Connie and I like to bolster our cases as much as possible."

"Well, if that were true, you wouldn't put flip-flopping witnesses on the stand."

Again, Mike was put off by her tone.

"I beg your pardon, Miss—"

"—Ms.—"

"—Ms. Garber," Mike said, "but Connie and I have had such witnesses before—"

"And what happened?" Garber asked, as though she already knew the answer.

"Juries are unpredictable," Mike replied, to let her know that he and Connie had seen both outcomes.

"Yes, they are. Why provide fuel for the defense's arsenal?"

Mike had to disagree and made sure to do so respectfully.

"So you would rather play it safe than take a risk?" he said patiently. "With all due respect, Ms. Garber, my mother is a retired attorney, and she taught me that part of practicing law is taking risks."

"We're not putting her on the stand."

"This goes to trial in four days. Connie and I have already prepped her to testify. She knows what to expect."

"I know what I'm talking about, Mr. Cutter," Garber said flatly.

_And I don't?_ Mike thought.

"Four days is enough to notify the defense of the change. I'll see to it that they know," Garber went on. "By the way, I think it would be best if I first chair at the trial. This is a tricky case, and I'm far more experienced and therefore a much better strategist," she added.

Mike paused, trying to let it all sink in.

Was she going to let him contribute at all?

"All right…" he said.

"All right. Now—I'll be developing my strategies for the trial. You need to turn your attention to the Anderson case. We have weak evidence—definitely not enough to sustain murder charges. I don't want to be forced to drop them. You look into that. Find a way to make them stick…Don't forget to throw away any Barlow strategy notes you made. The last thing I need is a cluttered workspace, what with all I've got going on."

_Clutter?_ Mike thought. _That's what my hard work is to you—that's_ _what_ Connie's _hard work is to you? Clutter?_

Mike could deny it no longer: Kitty Garber was a real piece of work.

"Well? Are you going to get to work or what?" she sharply broke into his thoughts. "People in this office act as though they're paid just to show up," she added.

She shook her head and went back to work.

As he left the room without meriting anything she said with a response—

_It's just for two weeks. It's just for two weeks,_ Mike thought, trying to stay positive.

However, as he made his way back to his office, he couldn't help but stop for a moment to glare at her through the window when she wasn't looking.

The next day—

Mike had stayed up late the previous night to work on the Anderson case. He'd gone over every single last file he had for it, wracking his brains, trying very hard to find a way to make the murder charges against Warren Anderson, a big-shot COO, stick. Stubborn as Mike was, he definitely didn't like to give up. There had to be a way to nail the son-of-a-bitch. He did it—he was responsible. Mike's intuition was screaming at him that that was the case.

But that didn't matter. Because it was like Jack always said: You only know what you can prove in court. It was like his mom said: No one gives a shit about your intuition.

At the last piece of wisdom he'd recalled, Mike had cracked a smile—the first in days—because he could just hear Arthur Branch's southern-accented voice in his head: Now, Justice may be blind, but she sure has an eye for solid evidence.

He'd then felt an ache inside. Connie did a very good Arthur impression—one that never failed to make him smile.

God, he missed her so much…How was she doing? Had she been able to heal at all? He certainly hoped so.

_If only time travel were real_, he'd thought. _I'd go back and change everything I said and did because I swear to God, I never meant to hurt you. I'll never hurt you again, Connie. I promise._

He'd then wondered how she would approach this dilemma. What would she do?

_She's brilliant_, he'd thought. _What_ would _she do?_

He'd thoroughly gone over all the files again with that thought in mind. They definitely didn't think exactly alike, but he and Connie _did_ think similarly. Connie was certainly more by-the-book than he was—but eight out of ten times, the two of them were on the same page. (She also helped keep him in check, which he knew was a good thing.)

The two of them sometimes had to take unusual approaches.

_Hmm_, Mike had thought.

And then it had hit him…

As Mike rode the elevator, he realized that he wasn't looking forward to sharing his solution with Kitty Garber at all. Why did he have the feeling she would jump down his throat the moment he finished explaining it?

Mike snorted.

That was, if she even let him explain at all.

The elevator suddenly gave a 'ding!', signaling his arrival at his floor, which brought him out of his musings.

For the first time ever, Mike wasn't looking forward to going to work at the D.A.'s office. He found that very sad because he loved his job.

When he got to his office, there was another note on his door: 'Am in the conference room. Meet me there to discuss our cases. Bring all necessary files. –Kitty Garber'.

"Good morning to you, too," Mike muttered flatly, unlocking and entering his office and hanging up his coat.

As he picked his favorite coffee mug up off his desk, he noticed the dry erase board. It bore several notes on their cases in Connie's neat handwriting.

Mike felt the same ache inside that he had the previous night.

He didn't realize he'd been staring at the dry erase board until there came a knock at his door. He felt a bit embarrassed when he snapped out of it.

There stood Hayley Stevens, one of the interns.

"Morning, Mr. Cutter!" she said.

"Hi, Hayley. What can I do for you?" Mike replied.

"Oh—here's your mail," said Hayley, handing it to him. "Also, Miss Rubirosa said I could help her write a subpoena for the Moseley case, but she hasn't been in for the past two days. Do you know where she is?"

"Yeah," Mike said, hiding the guilt and sadness he was feeling. "She took two weeks off…personal time. Vacation. So I've put the Moseley case on the backburner until she gets back. But I know that if you remind her, she'll still let you help her."

"Oh, all right," said Hayley. "Two weeks?" she added disappointedly. "That's a bummer."

_That's putting it lightly,_ Mike thought. _In my opinion, it plain-out sucks. And it's my fault. It's entirely my fault, and it absolutely sucks. Way to go, me. Another nice move by Mike Cutter. My ingenuity truly knows no bounds._

"Are you all right? You look sad," Hayley observed.

"Yeah," Mike lied, using his well-honed lawyer bluffing technique. "My cat died last night."

_And I fucked up horribly with the woman I've loved since the day we met. You know, all in a day's work,_ he thought.

"Aww, that's sad," said Hayley. "I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, it's hard," Mike bluffed. "But I guess it was just time. He _was_ old. Still, it sucks…Anyway, thanks for bringing me my mail, Hayley, I really appreciate it."

"No problem!" said Hayley. "Again, I'm sorry about your cat."

"Thanks," Mike fibbed.

With that, Hayley left, going back to whatever it was Jack was having her do that day.

'_My cat died'?_ Mike thought to himself. _Where the hell did_ that_ come from? You don't even_ like _cats!_

He shook his head at himself.

As he flipped through his mail (which included _The Harvard Law Review_ and the latest newsletter from the American Bar Association), he felt a slight let-down because part of him wanted there to be something from Connie.

_Are you serious, you idiot?_ he scolded himself._ Really? What the hell were you expecting, a postcard that says 'Wish You Were Here'? You've got to stop this. Stop being so pathetic—you caused this, so you have no right to miss her, to want her here. Stop being such a selfish prick. Stop it right now._

He then set his mail on his desk, picked up his briefcase, and then reluctantly headed to the conference room to meet Garber.

When he got there, she was again sitting at the table, reading, with her glasses on.

He knocked as best he could, as his hands were full.

"Come in!" Garber called.

Mike shifted his briefcase so that it was under his arm and then opened the door, entered the room, and closed it.

"Well, it's about time," Garber said in her typical abrupt tone. "What were you doing?"

"I was getting organized, and then one of the interns needed me," Mike replied, some of his annoyance with her creeping into his tone of voice.

"So did you work on the Anderson case?" Garber asked.

"Yes, I did," said Mike.

"And?"

"We just don't have enough evidence to make the murder charges stick. However—I did some digging, and I found out that Anderson's done some unscrupulous dealings for Golding Enterprises, including buying stolen products in order to get the cheapest prices. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. We have enough to get him on enterprise corruption. If we charge him with that, we'll have him in custody—"

"Funny enough, Mr. Cutter, I was able to figure that part out myself—"

"—while we look more into his work," Mike went on, ignoring her rude interruption. "I bet his underhanded dealings are the key. I bet therein lies the rest of the evidence that proves he's the murderer. Once we've got that, we'll be able to re-file the murder charges."

When he was finished explaining his strategy, Garber was staring at him, one eyebrow raised, as though he'd lost his mind.

"You prosecute murderers, Mr. Cutter. I told you to build a case for Homicide, not White Collar."

"I did—just not in the way you expected," Mike said, exercising all his self-control in order to remain calm.

"No, that certainly _wasn't_ what I expected," said Garber. "You're making this far more complicated than it needs to be. That won't work. That won't work at all…I see I'm going to have to handle this."

She sighed.

Mike stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing fixedly at the floor.

_Remember, it's only twelve days now. It's just twelve days_, he told himself. _Twelve more days, and you're through dealing with her._

Twelve more days, and Connie would return. Twelve more days, and he would get to apologize to the most incredible woman he'd ever met.

"Well—" Garber's voice brought him back to earth, "I need a subpoena for Enzo Peretti's bank records. Go draw that up and deliver it to the local Fifth-Third Bank. But before you do that, be a gentleman and go to the break room and get me a cup of coffee—black. I'm in for a long day."

_I'm in for a long twelve days,_ Mike thought coldly as he left for the break room.

The next day—

Mike had a motion hearing for the Peretti case. The defense was claiming the four homicides weren't connected—that the people didn't have enough evidence to prove that they were.

Judge Laramie was presiding over the hearing.

Once he saw that the prosecution and the defense were all set, he said in a friendly tone, "Well, I wasn't expecting this change in your line-up, Mr. Cutter."

Of course, he was referring to Kitty Garber being there in place of Connie.

"Neither was I, Your Honor," Mike said with a sarcastically pleasant smile.

"Kitty Garber for the prosecution, Your Honor," Garber said.

Laramie nodded.

"You're normally with Special Victims, aren't you, Ms. Garber?" he asked.

"That I am, Your Honor, but I'm filling in for Miss Rubirosa," Garber replied.

"Well," said Laramie, "is the defense ready, Mrs. Davis?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Enzo Peretti's attorney, Marla Davis, replied.

"All right," said Laramie. "Are the people ready, Mr. Cutter?"

"Yes, Judge," Garber spoke for Mike.

"I see," said Laramie, clearly surprised that Mike wasn't leading the presentation of the state's argument. "Let's get started, then."

Mike sighed.

Connie was _such_ a talented attorney. They made the state's argument together during motion hearings all the time. They trusted each other. They worked together. They were a team—equal co-stars in a two-person show.

He and Garber? They were a one-person show: she was the star. And he was the guy who swept up the stage when the show was over.

He was insignificant.

That evening, after calling it a day at exactly five (which he usually never did), Mike decided to go to the nearest bar, a favorite hang-out of Manhattan's cops and ADAs.

He moseyed into the bar and slumped down onto a stool at the counter, setting his briefcase down on the floor next to him.

He sighed heavily.

"Evening, Mike," Rick, the bartender, greeted him.

"Hi, Rick," Mike returned glumly.

"What can I get you?"

Mike shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. Pick something," he replied.

"You want a beer or something stronger?"

"Something stronger—please."

Rick nodded.

"Sure thing," he said.

He disappeared behind the counter for a second and then reappeared with a bottle and a glass. He set both down on the counter.

"Here you are—the best whiskey I've got," he said.

He poured a few ice cubes into the glass and then filled it halfway with whiskey.

"Thanks, Rick, I appreciate it," Mike said, immediately taking a drink, feeling a burning sensation in his throat and later in his chest when he swallowed.

Shit…

Oh well. It was five o'clock. He was done for the day. His temporary partner was as pleasant as a root canal, and he'd hurt the woman he loved.

So what the hell? Bring it on.

"You look really down, Mike," Rick observed. "Care to share?"

Mike finished his drink and sighed heavily.

"You're more than welcome to have more if you'd like," Rick added, indicating the bottle of whiskey.

Mike looked at the bottle for a moment.

If he drank the whole fucking thing, he wouldn't have to think about anything. He'd be too fucking hammered to.

…And then he thought of Connie.

He just knew she'd be disappointed in him.

_No,_ Mike told himself. _You're not having any more of that crap. You are _not _getting drunk. Connie's right—you're better than that._

"Thanks, Rick, but I'm going to pass," he said aloud.

"All right—just thought I'd offer," Rick said amicably.

"What's your relationship status, Rick? Are you single?"

"Yep. Single and on the market. Why?"

"Well—some day, Rick, you're going to meet an incredible woman, and you're going to fall in love with her. When that happens, remember this: she comes first—_always_. No matter what. She comes first."

Rick nodded.

"That's very wise," he said.

Mike gave a wry smile and thought, _Yeah, it is. And it should've occurred to me sooner._

He then stood up.

"Well—thanks very much, Rick," he said, "but I need to head home now. How much do I owe you?"

"Hey, nothing. I can tell you're having a rough time right now, so it's on the house," said Rick.

"Thanks very much, Rick. I appreciate it," Mike said gratefully.

"Not a problem, man," said Rick. "You take it easy now. Things'll start looking up."

Mike gave another wry smile, picked up his briefcase, and exited the bar.

_You're right, Rick. Right now, I'm one miserable son-of-a-bitch,_ he thought, as he walked out to his car. _But I don't deserve to have things start looking up. I'm reaping what I've sown. Don't feel sorry for me—at all. Right now, karma's using my cahoonies as kickboxing equipment—and I deserve every last bit of it._

The next day was the first day of the Barlow trial. It was a little early to tell how well it was going for the prosecution.

Garber's opening argument sounded strong enough.

But then again, so did that of the defense.

Mike could feel it—his lawyer's intuition was screaming at him—they were in for one knock-down, drag-out trial.

Normally, Mike didn't mind those kinds of trials whatsoever. He enjoyed competition. He welcomed the challenge.

…When it was he and Connie. He and Connie were a team. They believed in one another's ability, they respected each other, and most importantly, they trusted each other.

Mike didn't know Kitty Garber, so all he could do in regards to how good a lawyer she was, was take her word for it. She obviously didn't trust him at all, so how could he trust her in the slightest? And how the hell was he supposed to respect someone who clearly didn't respect him?

How the hell were they supposed to work together?

Oh, wait—they already weren't.

_I hope you know what you're doing, Ms. Garber,_ he thought.

Three days later—

Once again, Mike called it a day at five and headed to the local bar of choice of Manhattan's cops and ADAs.

Again, he slumped down onto a stool at the front counter and set his briefcase down on the floor beside him.

He sighed.

"How's it going, Mike?" asked Rick. "Doing any better since I last saw you?"

Mike smiled half-heartedly.

"Hi, Rick. Not really," he said, answering Rick's question.

"Care to share this time?" asked Rick.

"Well," said Mike, "among other things, I'm currently at trial—for the Barlow case—and it's a disaster."

"Really? That surprises me. I read in the papers about you and Connie kicking ass all the time."

"It's not me and Connie this time. She's been on vacation. It's me and someone else," Mike replied. "Someone I don't particularly get along with."

Part of him wanted to explain everything, but the thought of unloading his emotional baggage onto a bartender made him feel pathetic, so he left it at that.

"I'm sorry to hear that, I really am," said Rick. "But it seems like you really know what you're doing as a prosecutor, so I'm sure you'll turn it around."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Rick. It's nice to know _someone_ around here doesn't think I'm completely inept."

"Who thinks that?"

"It's not important."

"Listen, let me pass on a bit of advice my grandfather gave me: there are more horses' asses in the world than there are horses," said Rick.

Mike couldn't argue with that.

"Anyway," Rick said, "what can I get you?"

"Some more of that whiskey would be great."

"Not a problem," said Rick.

He poured Mike a half a glass of his best whiskey (on the rocks) and set it down in front of Mike.

He took a drink of the strong alcohol, and, when he swallowed, felt the same burning sensation in his throat and chest as he did the last time.

Soon, he was lost in thoughts of how much he missed Connie; how he wondered if she'd been healing at all; what she thought of him at the moment—if she'd been thinking of him at all…whether there was even the slightest chance that he could earn her forgiveness; whether he even stood a ghost of a chance with her…how he used to think love at first sight was a bunch of melodramatic bullshit—and then he'd met her, and presto, instant connection…

_You're so much more than a partner to me,_ _Connie,_ he thought. _You're my best friend—one of the only true friends I've ever had. But first and foremost, you are the woman I love. First and foremost…_

All of a sudden, he was yanked out of his musings by a familiar voice to his right.

"Hey, Rick, how's it going? I'll have a bourbon on the rocks, please."

"Evening, Lupo," said Rick. "I'll have that right out for you."

"Strong stuff," Mike said to Lupo.

"Yeah, well," Lupo said, noticing Mike and shrugging. "Sometimes you just need it."

"That's for damn sure," Mike agreed. "So what brings you here?"

"Meh—stress. This damn Barlow case…the damn Peretti case…school…"

"I still don't know how you do all that at once."

Lupo shrugged.

"I don't have a choice. I have to make it work."

"Like me and Kitty Garber."

"Really? She hard to get along with?"

"You don't know the half of it."

"You probably don't want to hear this, but if that's the case, then karma's got your balls in a vice."

"You think I haven't realized that?" said Mike.

He snorted and then deprecatingly raised his glass and said, "Here's to me—world-class prick of the year. Way to go, prick."

He then took a drink.

An awkward pause followed, as Lupo really didn't know how to react to that.

Then—

"So…when will Connie be back, do you know?" Lupo asked. "She just told me she'd be using some of her accumulated vacation time."

"She should be back in a week," Mike replied.

_I would know, I've been keeping track,_ he thought.

"Oh, that's good," said Lupo.

"Yeah—for you and Bernard. It means less exposure to me," Mike said, again in self-deprecation.

"Hey, man, it's nothing against you—not at all," said Lupo. "Everybody who works with Connie enjoys working with her."

"That's true," said Mike.

It was impossible not to like Connie. And for Mike personally, it was impossible not to love her.

"So…have you spoken to her recently at all?" Mike asked. "I'm sorry, I just…really want to know how she's been…"

"I haven't spoken to her, actually," said Lupo. "I'd like to know how she is, too. But I'm sure you're already aware that what you did was extremely shitty, so I'll spare you the lecture."

"Yeah," Mike said softly. "I'm _well_ aware…"

Just then, Rick brought Lupo his bourbon.

Lupo took a sip of it and then said, "Connie is one special woman. I don't think you meet too many women like her."

"Yeah…" Mike said quietly.

_Damn it,_ he thought sadly.

But then—

_Oh come, Mike, don't be an idiot, _he told himself. _It's Connie! You honestly believed you'd never have any competition? _

Mike sighed, feeling completely heartbroken. As if he'd had a chance with her _before_ this fine mess he created…

He pulled that fucking stunt—and Lupo wanted to be with her, too.

Detective Lupo…How the hell was Mike supposed to compete?

More whiskey suddenly sounded like a very good idea.

_Don't,_ a voice somewhere inside him said. _Don't._

He loved Connie—with all his heart…But it was hopeless…

He took another drink.

"I hope the Barlow trial starts looking up," said Lupo. "Has Garber ever prosecuted a homicide before?"

"Yeah. We're just getting our asses handed to us," said Mike. "I've been trying to contribute, but she won't let me. She insists on doing everything herself. Apparently I'm too inept to be a prosecutor."

"Wait, she won't let you do anything?"

"Nope. Not a thing. And even when she does, she'll just completely deplore what I've done and then redo it herself."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. She won't let me do a damn thing. I just must be completely incompetent…And I know you don't feel sorry for me for that. You shouldn't. Like you said, karma's got my balls in a vice," Mike said. "Well," he added, setting down his glass, standing up, and picking up his briefcase, "I'm going to head home now." He took out his wallet, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and placed it on the counter. "Keep the change, Rick," he said, not caring at all that he was over-tipping.

With that, he left the bar, missing Connie, if at all possible, even more.

The following day, Mike decided to work in his office all day, alone. Kitty Garber paid no attention to him, anyway, so what did it matter? he figured. The judge presiding over the Barlow trial had a family emergency, so they would remain in recess until the end of the week.

The end of the week…

Connie would be back then…

It was then that Mike knew what his next moves were.

First of all—

He shuffled through his files for the Barlow case until he found the file for Amanda Harper, Barlow's girlfriend. He picked up his Blackberry and dialed her number.

"Yes, hi, may I speak to Amanda Harper, please…Miss Harper, hi, this is Michael Cutter with the District Attorney's office…Oh, I'm fine, and you?...Good…Listen, I'm very sorry to spring this on you, but, as you know, your boyfriend's trial is still in recess, and it's given me time to rethink my strategy…"

After Mike finished talking to Amanda Harper, he contacted Barlow's attorney to notify him of the recent change in the prosecution's strategy.

Once he was done with all that, it was time to turn his attention to the Anderson case.

Again, he picked up his Blackberry, this time dialing the 2-7.

"Afternoon, Detective, it's Mike…Yeah, this is about the Anderson case…I'm about to draw up a warrant for his arrest, and once I get a judge to sign it, well, you know the drill. Just giving you a head's up…Thanks…Bye."

Mike then hung up, feeling quite pleased with himself.

The next day, Kitty Garber totally dominated all their work on the Peretti case—but no matter. Mike just had to bide his time, and then everything would fall into place.


	3. Part 3: May I Cut In?

**Part Three: May I Cut In?**

The following morning, Mike was in his office. Amanda Harper sat in a chair across from his desk.

He was prepping her to testify.

About a half hour later, there came a sharp rapping on the door.

Mike looked up from his notes on the Barlow case (the same ones Garber wanted him to throw away, in addition to new ones).

"Come in!" he called.

Kitty Garber quickly entered the room, slamming the door behind her.

Mike stood up, completely ready to face her. He'd been expecting her to flip out.

"Mr. Cutter, what do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "First you place Amanda Harper back on the witness list for the Barlow trial—"

"Yes, and I just finished prepping her to testify—"

"—and then I find out that you went behind my back _yet again_ by having Warren Anderson arrested for enterprise corruption! _What_ do you think you're doing?"

"I think I'm doing what needs to be done. There is _no other way_ to get to Anderson. And as for the Barlow trial, I made an executive decision in an attempt to turn the tide in our favor. As Executive ADA, I am obligated to get justice for murder victims, whether it's by getting a conviction or by negotiating a plea—"

"Mr. Cutter—"

"Don't interrupt me! For once—just for once—could you not do that? Now, I am doing what I think is best for me and Connie's cases. Did I go behind your back? Yes. But you gave me no choice. I tried, Ms. Garber—honestly, I tried. But the fact of the matter is, I can't work with you. I was polite, I was courteous, and I treated you with respect. But I received none of that in return. Since the day you barged into my office, you've done nothing but belittle me, and I'm sick of it—"

"Mr. Cutter—"

"What?" Mike snapped. "Are you going to try to justify yourself now?"

"You cocky—"

"What is going on here?" a concerned voice asked.

Mike turned, and immediately, his heart began to race.

There she was, standing in the doorway.

Right away, she had all of his attention. Garber may as well have left the room.

"Connie…" he said, completely softening.

Connie melted at the way he said her name.

"Ms. Garber—" she said, extending her hand, "Connie Rubirosa. I'd like to thank you for filling in for me on such short notice. I really appreciate it. May I please have a word with my partner? In private?"

"Well—"

"Thank you," Connie cut her off, with a pleasant (but fake) smile.

She opened the door wider.

Garber gave an irritated sigh.

"Oh, all right, then," she snapped.

Without so much as a word or a backward glance, she strode briskly out of the office.

Connie peered through the doorway at her for a moment before shutting the door and shifting her focus to Mike.

"Mike, what on earth was going on just then?" she asked in the same concerned tone as before.

"Never mind," Mike said tenderly. "Never mind, fuck it, it doesn't matter. You're here—that's all I care about."

Connie found those words very moving.

"So…are you just passing through, then?" Mike asked her.

"No," Connie said gently. "I'm back."

"You—you still have five more days…" Mike said softly.

Connie melted.

"You've been keeping track," she said softly.

Mike put his hands in his pockets.

"Oh—well—you know…yeah…" he muttered, addressing the floor. "So…what brings you back early?" he asked, still looking downward.

"I started feeling stir crazy," Connie replied. "And I'm ready to talk to you," she added.

Mike looked up at her, and their eyes met.

"As soon as I did that, I regretted it," he said in a soft, remorseful tone. "If you don't believe me, I understand. But it's the truth…I wish I'd never done it. If I could go back and make myself not be such a fucking idiot, I would do it. And I swear to you, I will do anything to make it up to you. Whatever you want, name it. It doesn't matter. I will do whatever it takes to show you how sorry I am."

Mike wore his heart on his sleeve. That was part of who he was, and Connie was used to it, but there was just something about this moment—something about this particular instance, something about how genuine and sincere he was being, something about his earnestness and the way he was looking her directly in the eyes as he spoke—that was making her more drawn to him than she'd ever been before.

She watched him walk around his desk so that it was no longer between them.

"That is the single most idiotic thing I've ever done—and it's my biggest regret, it truly is. I'm so sorry, Connie," he said sweetly. "I will never hurt you like that again. I promise. And you know what? If I ever have to choose between you and a conviction again, I will choose you every single time—_every_ single time."

At those words, Connie did something she'd never done before: she stepped closer to him and enveloped him in a tight embrace.

Once the initial shock wore off, Mike placed his arms around her and hugged her tightly, his heart racing. He couldn't believe this was happening.

"Do you feel better at all, Connie?" he asked. "If you're still hurting, don't feel like you have to come back right now. This isn't about me. It's about you."

"I'm all right, Mike," Connie said warmly and appreciatively.

"Does—does this mean you forgive me?" Mike asked.

"Yes," Connie replied gently.

Not wanting to give her true feelings away, she let go of him and stepped back. Her heart was beating quickly. Being so close to him, especially wrapping her arms around him and feeling his arms around her, made her feel weak.

Her gaze met his. The way he was looking at her, the focus of his beautiful blue eyes, made her feel even weaker. Part of her wanted her expression to show how she felt, so she wouldn't have to say anything, but part of her didn't want him to know or see a thing.

Mike was confused. She was returning his gaze, maintaining their eye contact. Did she know that he was loving her at a distance? If so, did she mind? If she didn't mind, was she just humoring him or…or could she possibly…?

No—there was no way, Mike told himself. There was no way the wonderful woman who currently stood in front of him was in love with him, too. There was just no way. That was hoping for far too much.

…Or was it?

Was there any possible way his luck could be that good?

He then remembered his mother telling him she thought it was possible for Connie to love him—and his mother was one of the most intelligent people he knew.

But she didn't know Connie, though…

But that wasn't what was important at the moment. What mattered was that they were friends—and that was how two people needed to start out if they were eventually going to be more, right? Well…that was the path Mike had to take: be her friend, get to know her, and then some day offer her his love.

Could she ever share his view that they would be perfect together?

He swore he'd love her the way she deserved to be loved, if she would give him the chance.

"I missed you," he said.

Connie gave a warm smile.

"You know…" she said. "I admit, being stir crazy isn't the only reason I came back early. I started missing you."

Mike was pleasantly surprised.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes," said Connie.

Mike smiled, his dimples showing.

Every time she saw that smile, Connie felt weak.

"Hey," she said, with a small smile, "I'm going to go say 'hi' to Jack and then go kill Ms. Garber with more kindness so I can get my files back."

"Good luck with that," Mike said flatly. "She probably won't let you have them. She'll probably tell you to go back home and let her close all our cases."

"Mike, what was going on with the two of you?"

"It really isn't important, Connie. You're back."

"You were obviously upset. I could hear the two of you from my office. The sound was muffled, but I could still tell you were upset."

"Basically, she's a real piece of work: controlling, rude, prissy, thinks nothing can be done right unless she does it…The way she sees it, everyone in this office is completely incompetent, except for her. She did nothing but belittle me the entire time. She treated me like crap, but you know what, Connie? It was karmic retribution, all of it. I deserved it because I treated you like crap…Karma truly is a boomerang. It came back around and smacked me in the face—just like I needed…Connie, do you think we can put this behind us?"

"I thought we just agreed on that," Connie said warmly. "We did just make up, didn't we?"

"Yeah—good point, you're right," Mike said, very moved. "So…so you were going to go say 'hi' to Jack and get your files back from Garber?"

"Yes," said Connie.

She smiled at him and then left his office.

Mike still couldn't believe she was back.

Connie knocked lightly on Jack's office door, which was slightly ajar.

"Come in!" Jack called.

"Hello!" Connie said pleasantly.

Jack smiled warmly.

"Connie! This is a surprise—obviously. What's brought you back so soon?"

Connie shrugged.

"Well, it's like I told Mike—I was just beginning to go stir crazy," she said with a smile.

Well, she wasn't telling a lie—she just wasn't telling the whole truth.

Her mentor didn't need to figure out that she'd been falling in love with her partner since the day she met him.

Mike's head was spinning. All he could do was sit there at his desk, lightly tossing his baseball into his mitt, thinking, _She's back—she's back, and everything's all right between us._

And she embraced him…Mike couldn't even believe she'd come back early, let alone that_ that_ happened.

He was overjoyed.

Connie found Kitty Garber in the conference room.

She knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Garber called.

Connie entered the room.

"Ms. Garber—I wonder if I might have my files back?" she said, being overly pleasant.

"Very well," Garber murmured irritably, handing Connie the manila folders that contained her files.

"Thank you!" Connie said in that same tone of false politeness, throwing in a fake smile for good measure.

"Is your partner always like that?" Garber added flatly.

_Like what?_ Connie thought, offended.

"Only on the weekends," she said aloud in the same tone as before, adding yet another sarcastic smile.

She then left the conference room without a word or a backward glance.

Mike's office door was open. Connie entered the room and smiled at him, causing his heart to beat faster.

"She wasn't rude to you, was she?" he asked her.

Connie shrugged nonchalantly.

"I don't care. It doesn't matter," she said. "Shall we get to work, then, since I got my files back?"

"Yeah—I'll get you caught up."

"Yeah—tell me everything."

"And then…maybe I could buy you lunch?"

Connie smiled.

"That's not necessary, Mike, but thank you!" she said warmly.

"Of course…" Mike said softly.

Connie gave another smile.

"Oh—and I'm going to call it a day around five today," said Mike. "There's something I have to take care of."

"What's that?" Connie asked curiously.

"Well…"

The next day, as Mike and Connie worked in Mike's office, discussing strategies for the Anderson case, there came a sharp knocking on the door.

Connie arose to answer it.

"I'll get it," Mike said sweetly.

He stood up, went over to the door, and answered it.

When he saw that—just as he'd been expecting—it was Kitty Garber, he opened the door and extended his arm in a mock gesture of welcome, a sarcastic smile on his face.

Once she'd stormed all the way into the room, he casually closed the door.

"Mr. Cutter, what is this?" she snapped at him, holding up a document Mike had sent to her.

"Oh, that. Well, it's quite simple, really," Mike said. "You see, first of all, we're meeting with Judge Larson because I want you off the Barlow trial. Then, we're going to talk to Jack because I'd like to take you off the other cases, as well. But don't fret—you'll get to argue your side in both instances. Now unless you have anything else you'd like to discuss, Connie and I are really busy at the moment. We do have quite the case load, you know."

"So this was _your_ idea, then?" Garber snapped. "Or was it both of you?"

"It was my idea. Connie had nothing to do with it," Mike said sternly.

He opened the door.

"See you this afternoon, Ms. Garber," he said.

Garber gave him a dirty look and then left.

At one o'clock that afternoon, Mike, Garber, and Connie met Judge Larson in his chambers.

"All right, then," said Larson, straightening at his desk. "So, as I understand it, this meeting is about exactly who will be playing for team prosecution for the remainder of the Lewis Barlow trial."

"Yes, Your Honor," said Mike. "I am requesting that Ms. Garber be taken off the case. She was assigned as a temporary replacement for Miss Rubirosa, who, as you can see, is back at work and completely ready and willing to reassume her duties. To state the obvious, Ms. Garber's services are no longer needed."

"What about consistency, Your Honor?" Garber argued. "Won't it throw the jury for a loop to suddenly have the state's representation changed?"

"I'm also sure it threw the jury for a loop when they learned we have to be in recess until the end of the week," said Mike. "This trial has already seen the unexpected, what's one more instance? Why is this such a big deal?"

"Your Honor, it shouldn't matter who is representing the state, as long as it's someone from the D.A.'s office," Garber insisted.

"I'd like to thank Ms. Garber for making my argument for me," Mike said, a smug smile playing about his face. "It shouldn't matter who it is. Not only will the state's evidence still be presented thoroughly and competently, Miss Rubirosa and I know each other better and work on cases together on a day-to-day basis. We're a highly effective team, and I think that's what's best for the state."

"To add to what Mr. Cutter is saying, I returned to work to do my job. Your Honor, prosecuting this case is part of my job," Connie said.

"Your Honor, the jury shouldn't have to be thrown for a loop just because Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes here can't do without each other," Garber said flatly.

At those words, Mike's heart began to beat faster, as did Connie's, but they both pretended they didn't hear Garber. They also didn't look at each other.

"Your Honor, I wonder about Special Victims being thrown for a loop," said Connie. "That's the division for which Ms. Garber works. Now that I've returned to Homicide, shouldn't she return to Special Victims? I have only ever prosecuted white collar crimes and homicides. I could prosecute a Special Victims case, but Ms. Garber already knows the ropes there. While she's able to do my job, unfortunately, I'm unable to do hers. So isn't it in the best interest of Special Victims that Ms. Garber returns to work there? Isn't it in the best interest of the District Attorney's office to have everyone there working where he or she is supposed to be working? It makes no sense for Special Victims to be short an ADA and for Homicide to have one ADA too many. That's clearly an inconvenience to the D.A.'s office. If we act in the best interests of the D.A.'s office, then, by extension, we act in the best interests of its cases—including this one."

Mike smiled, his gaze focused on the floor.

Connie was so brilliant…

"You make a valid point, Miss Rubirosa," said Larson.

"Thanks, Your Honor," said Connie.

"Your Honor, please don't turn this trial into a game of musical chairs," Garber said.

"I agree with Miss Rubirosa," said Larson. "Ms. Garber, you are no longer prosecuting the Barlow case."

"But Your Honor—"

"My decision is final, Ms. Garber," Larson cut her off sternly. "Mr. Cutter, Miss Rubirosa—I'll see you in court Friday morning at 9 a.m."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Connie repeated appreciatively.

As the three attorneys left the courthouse—

"Looks like you're the kid who wasn't sitting down when the music stopped," Mike said to Garber.

At that, Garber gave him a dirty look and walked off briskly.

"I'm not so sure that was necessary, Mike," Connie admonished him gently.

"I'm glad this case is ours again," Mike said. "We've got a trial to turn around."

Connie gave a kind smile.

"We can do it."

"Harvey Dent," Mike suddenly mused aloud. "I like it."

"Really?" Connie bantered warmly. "I would've thought you'd prefer Batman. Then you could be the hero."

"Rachel Dawes didn't choose Batman. She chose Harvey Dent," Mike explained.

Catching on to what he was implying, Connie looked away from him and pretended to be interested in the people across the street from them, so he couldn't see her smiling.

After meeting with Judge Larson, Mike, Connie, and Garber met with Jack in his office.

"Ms. Garber, I appreciate you filling in for Connie," said Jack. "But, as she's back, I need you back in Special Victims. So if you would kindly return there to your cases and let Connie return to Homicide and her cases. Again, thank you very much."

"Very well," Garber said stiffly.

With that, she strode briskly out of the office without another word.

"Well—on that note, glad to have you back, Connie. Very glad," Jack said, smiling good-naturedly.

Connie smiled.

"Thank you, Jack," she said, humbled. "Well—I think I'm going to get to work now," she added happily.

Mike smiled.

That evening—

Mike and Jack were in Jack's office, enjoying some of Jack's stash of scotch.

"So tell me," Jack said, chuckling. "Why are you here throwing a 'welcome back Connie' party without Connie?"

"Oh—well—I thought I'd ask her to go have a drink with me tomorrow or something, you know," Mike muttered bashfully. "You wanna top me off again?" he added, changing the subject and holding out his empty glass.

_Oh, Claire, I wish you could see this_, Jack thought, highly amused. _Connie has the same effect on him that you had on me!_

"Sure," Jack said, unable to keep himself from smirking.

He poured Mike another glass of scotch.

"Thanks," Mike said.

"So how's cloud nine treating you?" Jack teased him.

_Wonderfully,_ Mike thought to himself

"So I take it Garber's been here quite a while?" he asked, again redirecting the conversation.

"Yes, she has," Jack said, swallowing a swig of scotch. "She wanted your job, you know."

"She wanted to be EADA?" Mike said. "Wow. That certainly explains a lot—like why she's despised me from the moment she first laid eyes on me."

Jack chuckled.

"She was actually in the running for quite a while. I would go over résumés and cover letters for hours on end and eliminate candidates as I went. She actually made my top five."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Mike asked.

"Hey," Jack said, chuckling again, "cut me some slack. You can't tell from someone's occupational and academic backgrounds that they have a serious tendency to hold grudges. As I'm sure you've probably noticed, she's still a little bitter."

"Just a little bit," said Mike. He took a sip of scotch and added, "You know, she said you asked her to fill in for Connie."

"That's true, I did," said Jack. "Remember when you first started, and I told you that if you do anything to upset Connie, not only will you get your ass handed to you, you'll also have to deal with me?"

"Yeah…I do now…" Mike said softly, still mad at himself for what he'd done. "So let me guess: you decided to sic Garber on me to teach me a much-needed lesson?"

"That, and I wanted to give her a last hurrah before I fire her," Jack replied.

Mike's eyes widened in surprise.

"Passive-aggressive much?" he quipped, suppressing a smirk.

"Because you definitely told her ahead of time that you were moving to have her taken off the Barlow trial," Jack pointed out. "It's not like you sprung that on her or anything."

"Caught red-handed," Mike said guiltlessly. "Bad Mike, no cookie." He took another sip of scotch and then said, "So she's obviously more experienced than I am. What made you choose to promote me instead of her?"

"Well, first of all, she's a jerk. Second of all, you did better in law school than she did, and third of all, it's like I've said to you before: I saw something in you—something the other candidates didn't have."

"So…you've never told me just what that 'something' was," said Mike.

"Well, actually 'something' isn't really the right word. It's actually some_one_," said Jack.

Mike looked blankly at Jack for a moment.

"Who?" he asked.

Jack smiled fondly.

"Me."

Mike's facial expression was a combination of pleasant surprise and being flattered.

A week later—

After hearing the verdict at the conclusion of the Barlow trial, Mike and Connie drove back to One Hogan Place, as usual, to let Jack know how everything went.

Connie knocked on Jack's office door.

"Come in!" Jack called. "Hello!" he added as Mike and Connie entered his office. "How'd it go?"

Mike and Connie exchanged happy glances, Connie giving him a smile.

"We worked really hard to turn this trial around," said Mike. "We even pulled an all-nighter Tuesday night."

Connie nodded in affirmation of his statement.

"The jury ended up deliberating for only two hours—guilty," she said in satisfaction.

Jack smiled.

"Great," he said. "I'm very proud of you two. You worked through that whole ordeal, you moved past it, and look what happened: the defense was annihilating you, but you made one hell of a comeback, and you won."

"Yeah," said Mike, "thanks to Connie's phenomenal summation!"

"It was both of us, Mike. We both busted our asses, so we both got that conviction," Connie gently corrected him.

"You're right. It's ours—as is the case with every conviction we get," Mike said sweetly.

Connie rewarded him with a warm smile.

THE END


End file.
